Page 23 of Personal Disaster

“I want to do more than be frustrated.”

I know. I read her piece. “And that’s why you probably won’t take a very long break. But I want you to be careful.”

She picks up her sandwich again. She chews slowly, her too-clever gaze watching my face. “Hypothetically,” she says slowly when she’s finished. “Would someone like you be in a position to know something about the dangers of in-depth reporting?”

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate to answer. I want more than one more afternoon. That’s going to require more cards being laid on the table.

“Off the record.”

I nod and pick up my phone. I scroll through the most recent updates, and read her a few highlights. I don’t look at her as I do it. “Right now there’s a nineteen-year-old white supremacist doing background research on every staffer at every major news network that he can find. He’s putting them on lists.” Rage builds inside me as I read, and I tamp it down. “There’s a lot of positive chatter about a beer ad. They’re reading a lot of anti-immigration bullshit into it that just doesn’t exist. And—” I stop, cutting myself off. She doesn’t need to know that there are a group of people joking about killing homeless people.

Jesus Fucking Christ, I hope to God they are joking.

I’m not sure, though. And that’s why I keep an eye on them. I’m not alone, either.

Poppy stands and moves around the desk. She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Marcus…”

I pull her into my lap. “You were right. I did figure out who the Alt Park Service account was, and I gave them some pointers for staying under the radar. But that’s not the real story. That’s a distraction.”

She softens, going from perched on my lap to molded against my body in a single, frustrated exhale. “But is writing about the dark underbelly of the internet feeding into that distraction model, too? Is it feeding the trolls? I feel like we need some light to balance the darkness. Don’twe?”

If there was an answer to that question, we wouldn’t be where we are right now. “I honestly don’tknow.”

“I have to do something.” Firm. Resolved. Spirited.

I smile into her hair. “Youwill.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Good.”

She taps my chest with her fingertips and makes a thinking sound. “But speaking of not careful…you spend your free time monitoring nihilists and racists in online forums?”

“Everyone needs a hobby.”

“I thought yours was rock climbing.”

“I do that, too.”

“Tell me about it. Offthe—”

I cover her mouth with mine. I know it’s off the record. I kiss her instead, because that’s so much better than the darkness out there. I kiss her because I trust her, because I don’t need her assurances.

I just need her, for the short time we haveleft.

I’ve always taken a pretty pragmatic view of the risks of the world. So why can’t I do that when it comes to Poppy?

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